


'Til the Stars Come Down

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Belly Dancing, Birthday, Dirty Talk, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Kissing, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders reveals hidden talents at Isabela's 30th name-day party; Hawke is entranced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**************************************************************

The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews  
Not to be born is the best for man  
The second best is a formal order  
The dance's pattern, dance while you can.  
Dance, dance, for the figure is easy  
The tune is catching and will not stop  
Dance till the stars come down with the rafters  
Dance, dance, dance till you drop.

–W.H. Auden, "Death's Echo"

**************************************************************

Kit, Fenris and Isabela walked up to the clinic doors.  Several of Darktown's residents stood outside, muttering uneasily.  "Never seen 'im like this afore," one said, "Shuttin' down the clinic inna middle of the day and all."

Kit swallowed nervously.   _Oh, Maker, what am I supposed to do now?  
_  
Isabela stepped up, and with a laugh said, "Buck up, Kitten, and let's face the Big Bad Abomination.  I don't hear any 'grrrs' or 'arrrgs', so I'm sure we'll be fine, right?"

Fenris glared at Isabela's flippancy.  "Abominations don't say "'Grrr' or 'arrg.'"

Isabela rolled her eyes at her lover.  "It was a  _joke_ , Fenris.  Like, you know, 'All elves frolic,' or 'All dwarves like shiny things.'"

Fenris let out a long-suffering sigh.  "Let's just get this over with."

Kit pushed open the door to the deserted clinic, Anders' voice echoing faintly from the other side of the room.  As she came closer, she could hear him talking angrily, fearfully to himself as he sorted his personal possessions:

"Trash..."  A small, worn collar with a tarnished brass bell fell to the ground.

"Trash..." He added a small pendant with an engraved fox on it to the pile; Kit noticed that the pendant glowed, ever so slightly, with the familiar blue of a healing enchantment.

As they approached, Anders gritted his teeth at the sound of the footsteps behind him.  

" _Keep.._ " He set aside a small, embroidered pillow, gently.

"Trash..."  A small gold earring fell to the ground with a  _clink_.

"Trash-"  He balled up a set of robes Kit had never seen before and tossed them on top of the pile.  She heard a small  _tink_  as several small, circular metallic disks with leather straps clattered to the ground.  Isabela made a small sound, but Kit's attention was only on Anders.

"Won't be needing that anymore." A soft woolen scarf joined the pile.

"Anders-" Kit said, softly, "Stop."  She paused, unsure of what to say, then continued, "I know you're upset, but we need to talk about it-"

His anguished voice interrupted her.  "Upset doesn't  _begin_  to cover it.  You-" his voice broke off, and he stood up, facing her.  "You were the only thing that kept me from murdering an innocent girl.  It's all gone wrong, Justice and I. We're just a monster, same as any abomination."

Isabela looked over at the pile of discarded clothing and jewelry as Kit and Anders continued to talk.  She vaguely heard Kit reassuring the mage, and Fenris' voice cut in briefly, escalating the already emotional scene.

Isabela turned back to the group.  "Anders," she interrupted, "If you don't want any of that, can I have it?  I do  _love_  shiny things."

Anders threw up a hand in exasperation.  "Whatever you want, just take it.  I-"  Kit interrupted him, explaining something about that blasted 'Tranquil Solution' or whatever it was- Isabela didn't care particularly.  She ignored the two of them and gathered up the pile of belongings, stacking the jewelry and small items inside of the feathered robe.  She slung the entire thing into a bundle over her shoulder and walked back over to the group.  

"Right then, I'm off," she said, cheerily, as Kit and Anders turned irritated glances her way.  Isabela waved, then paused to give Fenris a peck on the cheek.  "I'll see  _you_  later, Sweet Thing," she purred, and as she turned to walk away she gave his firm little ass a squeeze.  Fenris jumped and let out a little sound that had Isabela smirking as she walked away.

********************************************************************************************************

 _Two weeks later:_

"Absolutely not," the mage said, glaring at the unrepentant pirate.  "You think I don't have anything better to do than dress in skimpy clothing and entertain you?"

"Anders," Isabela insisted, "It's my thirtieth name-day party.  In Rivain, I'd be officially unmarriageable.  I'm sure you understand, being somewhat...aged, yourself."

Anders glared at her.  "I'm not even as old as you are, Isabela.  And why would a-" he emphasized the phrase- " _decrepit old man_  such as myself want to perform at your party?"  He shook his head.  "That part of me is over, anyway."

"But that's just it," Isabela insisted.  "You've let this whole 'mages and templars and stick-in-the-mud spirit' completely take over your life."  She tugged on his feathered pauldrons.  "I know that fellow who impressed all the ladies at the Pearl-"

"And men-" Anders interjected.

" _And men_ , and this very captain, too boot, with his smooth talk and sexy body is still in there, somewhere."  Isabela argued.  At his mulish expression, she changed tactics.

"Look, if you won't do it for me, do it for Hawke.  Doesn't she deserve to enjoy the man she loves, along with the crazed manifesto-writer and Mister I-Disapprove-Of-Everything-Fun?  She puts up with all of that, you know, but what she really loves is  _you_ , not your cause or your spirit."

Anders weakened visibly.  "Look, I haven't even done that in years, and what about the music?  You can't have  _sharqi_  or  _baladi_  without someone playing a  _kanun_  and  _darbuka._ "

Isabela grinned.  "This is a Rivaini celebration, Anders.  I've already arranged for a few of my musically-inclined friends to join us.  I even have an _alboka_  player coming."

Anders shook his head, suddenly.  "Justice doesn't think this is a good idea, Isabela.  I've got so many other things-"  Anders yelped as Isabela reared back and punched him suddenly.

"Enough of what  _Justice_  wants, Anders."  Isabela looked at him, hand on hip, voice full of frustration.  "That's what gets you in trouble, like with that girl a few weeks ago.  He may be the passenger, but  _you're_  steering the ship, Captain.  So wise up and tell that stick-in-the-mud where to shove it.  The Anders I know would have jumped at the chance to put on his prettiest clothes and dance for his lady."

Anders stood, slowly, bringing a hand glowing with healing magic to his nose.  "Did you have to hit so bloody hard?"

Isabela smirked.  "Suck it up, Sparklefingers."  She handed him the folded robe, along with the four brass finger-cymbals on top.  "You're coming, and that's that.  I'd start practicing, if I were you."

Anders lips quirked as he took the robes and zills.  "That was...unexpectedly profound, coming from you."

Isabela grinned at him.  "That's me, I'm a helper.  I'll see you in a fortnight at the Hanged Man, then."

*******************************************************************************************************

 _A week later..._

Kit pushed the door of the clinic open and looked around.  The place was deserted, and Anders was nowhere to be seen.  "Anders?" she said, quietly, a hint of worry in her tone.   _What if the templars-_

She heard it then, a faint, musical  _rin-rin_  from the back room, and a voice.  She stepped inside the clinic and walked towards the back room.  As she stepped closer, she heard Anders voice, quietly repeating:

"buy more shoes, and...buy more shoes, and..."  the  _rin-rin_  sound seemed to be clinking in time to rhythm his voice was setting.

"Anders?" she said, stepping near the curtain blocking off his private area.

She heard a sudden  _yelp_  and a muffled curse as the sounds briefly stopped.  A second later, the curtain was tugged aside, and Anders, red-faced and huffing, stood before her.

"Hawke," he said, panting slightly.  "What an...unexpected surprise."

"Are you all right?" Kit asked.  "I heard you saying something about shoes..."

He pinkened slightly.  "It's nothing," he said, quickly.  "And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Kit blinked at the abrupt change of subject.  "Isabela's having a celebration at the Hanged Man, in a week, to celebrate her thirtieth naming day.  I was hoping you would come with me."  She looked up at him, golden eyes pleading.  "I know you've been busy, lately, and that whole thing a few weeks ago-"

Anders interrupted her.  "Yes, Isabela already asked me, and I'll be there.  Can't miss a celebration like this, right?"

Kit raised an eyebrow.   _Usually I have to beg and plead and drag him along for these things.  Ah, well, don't look a gift mabari in the mouth, right?_

"Isabela's got all of us doing something for the party- Varric's providing sixteen kinds of alcohol, and Merrill's going to recite some Elvhen poetry, or somesuch.  Aveline and Donnic have arranged to have the Hanged Man just to ourselves, and I have no idea what Fenris is doing.  Playing the lute, perhaps."

She broke off, noticing Anders' scowl at the mention of the elf, then continued.  "'Bela's asked me to bring the food, so I'm cooking up a Rivaini-style feast.  Do you-"  she broke off, reddening a bit.  "Is there anything you'd like, specifically, to eat?  I take requests-" she hurriedly continued her sentence- "fromhungrylookingsexyscruffyapostatehealers."

Anders stepped closer to her.  "Did you just call me 'hungry-looking, sexy, and scruffy?'"  He reached out a hand and cupped her blushing cheek.

"Well, not you, particularly.  I mean, if any other apostate healers matching that description come along, I guess I'll take requests from them too," Kit replied, her heart pounding from his gentle touch.

Anders grinned.  "Well, if you're offering, since it's a Rivaini-style celebration, there's this layered pastry, called  _baklava,_  with nuts and spices and syrup that's to die for.  It's very sweet," he said, leaning in close to her, "And I love sweet things."  He breathed the last on her lips before capturing them with his own.

Kit couldn't help softly moaning against his lips.  He was warm, so warm, and smelled of herbs, and dust, and feathers, and a deeply male scent that was uniquely Anders.  Lips and tongues tangled, and Kit found herself gasping for breath, her arms around him, drinking in the sounds they made together, the feel of his mouth on hers as he pulled her tightly to him.

He broke the kiss then, panting, eyes closed, and smoothed his hand along her cheek.  She opened her eyes, slowly, to see him watching her, the need in him matching her own.  "I thought this part of me was over," he whispered, softly.  "For three years, I've lain awake, every night,  _aching_  for you."  He laid another soft kiss on her lips.  "Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart?"

She held his hand to her cheek, eyes serious.  "I've never felt this way about anyone," she answered.  "I need you, Anders... I think..."  Her voice trailed off as she looked down.  Gathering her courage, she brought her eyes back up to his.  "I think I'm in love with you."   

His eyes warmed, and he opened his mouth, "I-"

"Healer!"  The panicked voice came from the entrance to the clinic, and Anders and Kit stepped apart as two men all but carried in a third.  "Rastin got caught in a cave-in, ser, it's bad," one said, voice tight with fear.

Anders looked at Kit, then back at the men.  "Sweetheart, I-" he said, haltingly, and she could all but see the  _need_  in him to help.

"Go," Kit said, with a smile, "We'll talk later."  She gave him a little shrug and a wave, noting the relief on his face as he smiled apologetically at her before turning and striding over to the injured man.

Kit left the clinic, lips warm and heart light.  She took the cellar entrance from outside his clinic to her home, quickly penned a note and gave it to Bodahn to deliver before taking up her sword and shield.

 _Anders,  
I'm going to the Wounded Coast with Isabela, Fenris, and Varric.  We're helping out the Viscount and expect to be gone for a week or so.  I'll see you at Isabela's party, and perhaps you'd like to stop by my house afterwards?  I'll bake extra baklava, just for you.  
Love,  
Kit_

********************************************************************************************************

 _A week later..._

Kit woke up slowly, groaning groggily as her muscles protested.  She stretched langorously in bed, enjoying the warm cocoon of blankets on top of the soft mattress.   _Beats sleeping out in the open,_  she thought,  _Thank the Maker that we're done with that mess on the coast.  It's good to be home again._

She'd stumbled through the doorway the previous night, clothes full of grit and body sore with bruises and a few half-healed cuts.  Bodahn had clucked over her as usual, drawing her a bath and providing her with an elfroot potion and a snifter of brandy.  

 _There are few things in the world that a hot bath, healing potions, and alcohol can't fix,_  she thought contentedly, and rolled out of bed to get ready for the day, putting on a set of old clothes.  _But for now, I have a lot of cooking and baking to do,_  she thought with a smile.  Few of her companions were aware of how much she loved working in the kitchen.  Luckily her mother understood and had refrained from hiring a full-time cook.  There were few enough genuine pleasures in day-to-day life- if Kit had been banished from her lovely kitchen she had no doubt she'd be a much angrier person.

She hummed to herself as she began to gather the ingredients for the thin dough the  _baklava_  required.  The Rivaini woman at the marketplace had emphasized the importance of the thin, crispy sheets of pastry, giggling over the recipe as if she were a girl of twenty, in love with a suitor, instead of a woman of fifty selling spices.   _It's nice to meet other kitchen enthusiasts,_  Kit thought, smiling as she sifted together the salt and flour, adding the water until the dough was fairly stiff.  She covered her hands with oil and kneaded the dough, humming to herself at the relaxing, mindless activity.  After that, she covered the dough and set it to rise, moving on to the savory bacon and sausage, onions, garlic, and potatoes that would cook into a bubbling gravy, to be served over the cornmeal porridge.

 _You're sure this is what you want?_   She'd asked, doubtfully, wondering why Isabela would request such a mundane meal.

 _Kitten, a taste of home doesn't have to be fancy to be good,_  Isabela had laughed.   _And as I am_  quite  _a failure in the kitchen, I appreciate you doing this for me._

Kit shrugged, chopping and dicing the ingredients and setting them to simmer on the crane over the fireplace, then assembling the ingredients for the flatbread.  If this was what Isabela wanted, she'd be more than happy to accommodate her.

She looked up suddenly at a light knock on the kitchen door, surprised and flustered to see Anders leaning up against the door with an odd look on his face.

"Anders!" she smiled, unaware of the light dusting of flour on her nose.  "I wasn't expecting you this early.  As you can see, I'm-" she gestured with a flour-covered hand- "getting ready for the party tonight."

"I just wanted to check on you after your escapades along the coast," he replied, then looked her up and down.  "I didn't realize you were so domestic," he said with a grin, "It's a different look for you."

"You mean 'not wearing armor that weighs as much as I do, hacking at monsters or criminals with a sword and shield in hand?'"  She wrinkled her nose.  "Yes, I suppose that  _would_  be a change, given that none of us see each other regularly outside of situations not involving life or death."

She turned back to the flatbread ingredients, drizzling a bit of oil over the dough and beginning to knead it into a smooth ball.

Anders' throat went dry, watching as the oil glistened against the tanned skin of her hands, as her breasts moved with the rest of her body underneath the soft, warm fabric of her plain tunic, in that rhythmic motion she was creating, kneading the dough with a practiced touch.  He moved away from the door, suddenly, wanting to touch her, taste her.  He shoved that part of himself that was Justice to the back of his mind, moving behind her where he could just see the delicate nape of her neck as it peeked from between her collar and her short, dark-reddish hair.  

She stilled, hands in the dough, as he slipped behind her.  "W-What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly.  She squeaked slightly as his hands came around her waist, pulling her back against him as he bent down to nuzzle her neck.  She giggled and writhed in his arms at the feel of his stubble against her neck, hands covered in oil and flour, helpless to push him away without getting his coat dirty.  "Anders-" she let out a helpless snort as he tickled her sensitive neck with that stubble, the heat in her belly rising as his lips traced the curve of her jawbone, "I'm-" he licked her, teeth nibbling, then moved up to breathe in her ear, and she completely forgot what she was trying to say.  She moaned instead, leaning her head back to give him better access to her.

"You smell delicious," he whispered in her ear, "Like a fresh pastry, warm and sweet."  His hands rested on her hips, then feathered gently up her sides, sliding along her ribcage to cup her fully clothed breasts.  She gasped at the touch, his thumbs gently rubbing over her nipples, his mouth hot and demanding, sucking against her neck.  The sounds of desire he made as he kissed and nipped at her were melting her, both of them panting slightly.  He laid a final kiss on her neck, softly, his hands gliding back down to her hips.  "This probably isn't the best time, is it?" he whispered in her ear.  

Kit struggled to open her eyes through the haze of desire.  "What?" she said, taking a breath.

He smiled against her ear, his breath feathering on her neck.  "You're a little busy at the moment, aren't you, with the party?"  He stepped away then, coming around to her side, his hand trailing along her hip.

She looked at him with eyes full of desire, flushed, lips parted.  She licked her lips, then said with feeling, "And you expect me to  _cook_  after that?"  

Anders grinned at her.  "We'd hate to disappoint Isabela, wouldn't we?"

Kit picked up a hand towel and wiped her hands, slowly.  "Fuck Isabela.  Or better yet-" she looked at him, hungrily, and his heart rate sped up.  He reached up a hand and wiped away the smudge of flour on her nose, laying a soft kiss on her lips.

"I really didn't come here to distract you, sweetheart," he murmured, somewhat apologetically.  

She smiled against his lips, replying, "You smug bastard.  Don't deny that you enjoyed watching me fall apart at your touch."  She kissed him lightly, then, and with a sigh of regret, pulled back slightly, noting the small smile that graced his lips.

She took the towel, then, and flipped it around and around until it was like a rope of sorts, then with a flick of her wrist cracked him smartly on the hip with it.  He yelped in surprise and backed off, smirking at her.

"Well, get out of here then, and let me cook."  She softened the words with a smile, then forged on, brazenly, "But you are  _so_  making this up to me tonight."  She was surprised a bit at her own forwardness, but the look in his eyes, full of promises and desire, melted away any last hesitation.  "After the party, then?" he asked, quietly, warmly.  She swallowed, then nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He walked to the doorway, turning around at the last moment to say, "I'll see you tonight, then," and then he was gone.

Kit let out the breath she'd been holding, not sure whether to laugh or cry or dance.   _Three fucking years, Maker,_  she thought to herself, nearly giddy.   _It's about damn time._   She couldn't resist the little victory dance around the kitchen, ridiculous grin stretched across her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gives Isabela her nameday gift, Anders makes his grand appearance, and Merrill recites poetry to the delight of the crowd. Hawke can't keep her eyes off of Anders and flirting/petting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference pics for Anders' clothing found here:
> 
> http://sweetcandyrain.deviantart.com/art/DAA-Anders-185103882
> 
> http://biowarefans.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Dragon-Age-Origins-Awakening-Anders-Reveal_2.jpg

_That night..._

Kit set the pot full of stew on the ground next to the pot full of cornmeal porridge, and then looked over at the basket heaped full of freshly fried flatbread.  She had carefully cut the baklava into triangles, then drizzled it with the last of the honey, spices and nuts in its pan.  It smelled divine, and her stomach growled loudly.   _Now I just have to get it all to the Hanged Man,_  she thought, and sighed.   _I'll have to make two trips..._   A knock on her door alerted her to the elf who had silently slipped in.

"Fenris!" she smiled, "I was just getting ready to haul everything to the Hanged Man."

"Isabela asked me to help you carry everything," he said, fidgeting slightly, a small package in his hands.  Kit grinned.  "I'll have to thank her for remembering me."  She looked over at the package he held in his hands, nervously.  "What have you there?"

"It's...I understand it is the custom to give gifts on one's naming day," he began, uncomfortably.  "I wasn't sure..."  He held the small box out, a curiously vulnerable expression on his face.  "Is this... appropriate?"

Kit took the box from him, opening the carved wooden lid.  "Oh, Fenris," she breathed, "She'll love it."  Inside the box sat a fat, clear glass bottle which held a cunningly constructed tiny ship.  It was beautifully articulated, from the tiny ropes that made up the rigging, to the slips of linen that made up the sails.  "It's perfect," she said, warmly, closing the lid and handing the box back.  She didn't miss the relieved look on his face, and chuckled internally.   _Despite all protestations to the contrary, one might almost think the pirate wench and the elf were hm.... courting._

"Just set it on top of the cloth in that basket, there," she said, gesturing to the flatbread, and hooked the handles of the two pots into the chains that were attached to either side of a long pole.  Kit hefted the pole to her shoulder, the two pots swaying gently on either side.  "If you could take the basket and the pan, then, we'll be off."  Fenris nodded, and without further ado the two set off to the Hanged Man.

********************************************************************************************************

Kit and Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man to find the entrance decorated with a pair of small paper lanterns.  They could hear a fair amount of noise coming from inside.  "Didn't Aveline and Donnic arrange to have the place to ourselves tonight?" Kit asked.  Fenris shrugged, then pushed the door open.  A cheer rose up as they walked inside, celebration already in full swing.  Kit was surprised to see another fifteen or so people there, most of them with the dark coloring indicative of Rivaini or Antivan origin.

The common area had been mostly cleared out, with tables ringing the periphery.  Varric sat comfortably at one of these, holding court to a pair of adoring, dark-skinned ladies who were hanging on his every word.  Kit saw Aveline and Donnic at another table, holding hands, and waved briefly before setting the pots down.  She unhooked the chains and was about to pick one up when she was enfolded in a sudden hug.  

"Kitten!"  Isabela said, happily, giving her a smacking kiss on the lips.  "And just in time to share a drink!"

Kit smiled at the other woman.  "It looks like you've had a few already, hmm?"

'Bela grinned.  "Well, it  _is_  my naming day, after all.  Here I am, another year older, and  _so very_  broken up over it, too.  In fact, I desperately need some comforting..."  Her eyes went behind Kit to the elf who stood uncertainly in the doorway, wooden box in hand.  "And here's just the comfort I was looking for," she said with a purr.  She let Kit go with an absent-minded squeeze to the buttocks- Kit rolled her eyes and began to set the pots up on the bar.  Corff had kindly enough provided flatware and plates for everyone to use, and soon the delicious smells were wafting through the room.

********************************************************************************************************

Isabela walked over to Fenris, putting a little extra sway into her steps.  "Care to give the Naming-Day Girl a kiss?" she said, with a lift of her eyebrows.  

"Actually, I..."  Fenris handed her the box.  "I understand a gift is customary on such a day."

"You bought me a gift?"  Isabela said, smiling, "Is it a dagger, or a bottle of wine, perhaps?  Or maybe..." her words died off as she opened the box, a small, tender expression flitting across her face.  "Oh... isn't that just-" she smiled, a gentle, real smile, "-the cutest thing."

Fenris shifted, awkwardly.  "It reminded me of you," he said, quietly.  Isabela set the tiny ship carefully on a table, then turned back and grabbed the elf by his ears, pulling him into a kiss that had the rest of the room cheering and clapping.  When she let him go, with a smile, he was red with embarrassment, but at the same time, looked slightly pleased.  Isabela tucked her ship protectively under her arm, and taking Fenris' arm in her other hand, pulled him into the room.  "Join the party, Sweet Thing," she said, pushing him towards the table where Aveline and Donnic sat.

The other guests-  _Pirates/smugglers/sailors/cousins?_   Kit wondered, idly, began to help themselves to the food.  Alcohol was flowing freely, and two men and a woman sat in the corner, playing music.  One man was skillfully plucking what looked like a horizontal harp, while the other was coaxing strident tones out of a strange horn made of wood, ivory and metal.  The woman was tapping thumbs, fingers and palm of one hand against a drum she held over a knee, a carved stick in other hand tapping out a syncopated beat.  The drum created an irresistible rhythm that meshed seamlessly with the harp and horn.  

Several of the men swayed and laughed, arms moving in time to the music.  Kit grabbed a plate of food, accepted the goblet thrust into her hand, and sat at a table near Varric.  Merrill walked out from the back of the tavern where the neccessaries were located, immediately drawing an escort of two handsome young men who vied with each other as to who would fetch her a plate of food.

Kit looked around anxiously.   _I'm not surprised that Sebastian didn't show, but where is Anders?_   "Varric," she called out, "Have you seen Anders tonight?"  The dwarf looked away from his adoring audience briefly, replying, "Not yet, Hawke, but I'm sure he'll be here any minute."

Kit sighed and returned to her food, trying not to worry.   _He's no fragile flower- I'm sure he's fine,_  she told herself sternly.  A small part of her mind argued back:   _But what if the templars found him?  What if he was ambushed by the Carta or Coterie or some random street gang?_   She shoved that thought far back, focusing instead on Isabela, who, at the moment, had seated herself on Fenris' thigh and was moving her torso and arms in time to the music, sinuously.  Fenris had a hand on her back, a glass of wine in the other, and Kit snickered to see that the 'puppy eyes' were in full force as he watched the pirate with unconscious affection.

Kit turned to watch the musicians, sipping a mug of ale appreciatively.   _Varric has outdone himself- this is excellent._   She set the mug down and began clapping along with the rest of the room to the music, oblivous to the quiet opening and closing of the main door.  When Isabela called out, "Anders!", Kit started, and looked over to see him enter the room.

Her jaw dropped and she stared, openmouthed, at the mage who stood in the entryway.

 _Where did he get- Oh, Maker, those robes..._  She nearly whimpered.

He was wearing a set of neatly kept green robes in the Tevinter style, the collar and edges trimmed in gold thread.  The shoulders were trimmed in shiny black feathers which accentuated the curve of his biceps.  He had a set of matching gold armbands on his upper arms, and a small, shining gold earring gleamed on his right ear.

He wore a gold chest ornament underneath the open sides of the robe.  The individual golden strips sat seamlessly against one another, a small red gem in the center of the ornament.  The gold and black and teal shone against his lithe, lightly muscled body, the dark colors gleaming against his pale skin.

 _There's probably another robe you'd wear underneath that, in battle,_ the logical part of her mind concluded, while the rest of her mind babbled incoherently.  Whatever might normally go under that jacket, he was not wearing it now, and the muscled planes of his chest and stomach were deliciously revealed in a four-inch strip between the edges of the robes, bare to his waist.  She couldn't stop herself from noticing the golden hair that trailed sinuously from his belly button into the belt that crisscrossed the robes, holding the edges closed over a thin golden underskirt with a small motif embroidered into the center.  Some part of her mind that was still functioning noticed that a small golden fringe hung from the belt, shaking sensuously with his every step.

He wore a pair of laced sandals over his deliciously bare feet, pale skin and curly golden hair on his calves revealed by the skirt.  

 _I never noticed what nice feet he has,_  she thought, dazed,  _such well-shaped toes.  But I suppose he normally wears boots- and pants-_

That same pale skin and golden hair showed on his forearms, around the green and gold bracers, lightly blazoned with golden falcons, that stretched from elbow to wrist.  His biceps were showcased between the feathered shoulders and bracers, and his hands, too, those marvelous, healing hands, dexterous, graceful fingers...

He had pulled up, or pinned up, his thick, straight red-gold hair into an unbelievably sexy ponytail, leaving the clean line of his throat and jaw emphasized by the collar of the robes.  A few stray wisps of his hair framed his face, that gorgeous, sexy stubble, strong nose, full lips, and eyes the color of fine whiskey.

He looked around the room, eyes searching, until he found her.  Whatever he saw on her face must have pleased him, because he gave her a little grin.  

Was it just her, or was the room getting darker?  She heard Isabela's voice, by her shoulder, suddenly, sounding amused.

"Don't forget to breathe."  At that, Kit let out the breath she'd been holding, and sucked in another lungful.  The room brightened, and Isabela laughed.  "You look like someone just hit you over the head with a plank, Kitten."

"I feel that way," Kit breathed, watching as Anders made his way to her table.

********************************************************************************************************

Kit noticed with a scowl the three two women and a man who tried to waylay Anders as he walked across the room.  Isabela laughed, seeing the warrior's dark expression.  "Kitten, you can't fault them for trying.  He  _does_  look delicious tonight, hmm?"

Kit scowled again and took a drink of her ale, while Isabela continued, "It's  _your_  table he's coming to sit at, sweets; you have nothing to worry about."  The pirate moved smoothly to meet Anders as he approached the table, putting on hand familiarly on one of his bracers.

"Well, don't you look smashing tonight," Isabela smirked, bending in to give him a peck on the cheek.  Kit ground her teeth.  

Anders put a pout on his face and responded, "Are you saying that I don't look smashing all the time?"

Isabela laughed.  "Well, smashing isn't quite the word I'd use when you're dressed in rags and haven't bathed for a few days; not to mention the whole 'covered in blood and guts' healer look."  She gave him one last pat, then said with a grin, "Now give our Champion here some attention, you, before she challenges me or the rest of the room to a duel over your honor."  The pirate sauntered over to the musicians, joining the two or three people who were performing some kind of folk dance in time to the beat.

Kit felt the last of her irritation melt away as Anders' eyes met hers, and for a long moment they simply stared at one another, the rest of the room fading into insignificance.  He gave her a crooked little grin, finally, breaking the tension and anticipation that built between them.  Kit stood up, heat rising in her cheeks.  "I feel like the prince who just saw the beautiful princess arrive at the ball, putting the rest of the lords and ladies to shame with her beauty," she said to him, softly.

Anders' cheeks pinkened slightly at her words, but he took her hand and stepped close, putting a hand around her waist.  "I'm a princess now?" he said, smiling, and pulled her in for a tender kiss, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek possessively.  There were a few assorted groans of disappointment from behind them at the display that had Kit's lips quirking up at the corners.  "I guess that makes me your knight in shining armor," she quipped back, then turned to the rest of the room, meeting the amused gaze of the half-dozen sailors who were watching them.  

"Mine," she called out, pleasantly, accepting the cheers and catcalls that her announcement prompted.  She turned back to Anders and said, "I was just about to get a cup of  _kaffe_  and some dessert- there should be plenty of food left, if you're hungry."  He nodded, setting a small pouch that clinked curiously on the table.  They made their way over to the bar, Anders filling a plate while Kit filled a cup full of the steaming, bitter Antivan drink that went so well with sweets.  She then served herself a small piece of the  _baklava,_  noticing with satisfaction that the guests had already made a fair dent in the food.

They made their way back to the table, finding that a pair of mugs filled with ale had mysteriously arrived on the table, along with two small glasses and a bottle of what looked like expensive Antivan brandy.  Kit looked over at Isabela, who waved and winked, giving her a thumbs-up sign.  They sat, and Kit looked over at Anders as he tore off a piece of the flatbread and dipped it in the stew, eating with evident enjoyment.  He looked up to find her watching him, sipping her  _kaffe,_  and feeling a bit devilish, asked innocently, "What?"

The alcohol was beginning to relax her, and Kit found that she'd lost most of her normal reticence.  "You'll have to tell me where you've been hiding those robes," she said, "And then promise me never to wear them in public again."

Anders grinned at her, and replied archly, "Oh?  You like them, then?"

********************************************************************************************************

Kit leaned forward and reached out a hand, skimming her fingers lightly over his stomach, running them from his belly button up that deliciously bare stretch of skin all the way to the chest ornament at his sternum.  "Mmmm, yes, I do," she said, "And so does everyone else in this room, I think."  She slipped her fingers to one side, underneath the cloth, skimming lightly over a nipple.  She heard his quick intake of breath, and ran her fingers back to the middle of his stomach before sitting back.

Her fingers tingled with the memory of that warm skin, and she set her hand on her breech-clad thigh, eyes meeting his.  She wondered if his pulse was running as rapidly as hers, if her eyes had darkened with desire as much as his.   _Two can play at this game,_  she thought, and picked up the small glass full of brandy and threw it back, a small trail of liquor escaping the corner of her mouth and trailing down her chin.  She set the glass back on the table, then caught the small drip of liquor with her fingers, dragging it back, slowly, up to her lips.  She licked it off, delicately, and heard the small sound he made, their eyes locked on one another.   _Point for me,_  she thought, gleefully.

She let her gaze wander down to his hips, knees, before settling on the straps of the sandals that fastened around his calves.  "I admit I hadn't thought about what you'd look like in a skirt," she said, keeping her voice calm, "But I will say you have lovely ankles."  Her eyes moved back up, slowly, lingering at that trail of hair that disappeared into his belt, moving her gaze up until she finally met his eyes again, daringly.   _Point for me._

"Shall I tell you why mages wear robes, sweetheart?" he asked, grinning.

"Oh, please do enlighten me," Kit answered.

"Things can be awfully strict in the Circle," he said, bending closer to her, lowering his voice.  "Robes make...certain activities much easier.  No laces, or buttons... You're done before anyone's the wiser."  

He shifted close to her, and put his mouth next to her ear.  "In fact, if you and I were to go back into that hallway," he breathed into her ear, "I could take you up against that wall, right there, your breeches down around your ankles, bent over for me, listening to you bite back your moans while I thrust inside you, my arm around your waist, my fingers rubbing your pearl until you came for me."

 _Holy fuck, Anders,_  she thought, dazed, feeling a surge of wetness between her thighs, her breath hitching at his words.  Heat rose in her face, and she let out a small, desperate sound as his breath feathered against her ear.

"But not now, sweetheart- the first time I take you, tonight, I want it to be on your bed, sheets tangling around you while you scream my name."  She whimpered, conceding the game.

 _Points for you, Anders._

********************************************************************************************************

"You win," she said in a strangled voice, not missing that low, masculine chuckle as he drew back.  

He took another bite of food, smirking, and after he swallowed, he said, nonchalantly, "Delicious, sweetheart."

Kit wanted to strangle him.  No, she wanted to throw him over her shoulder, cart him home at a full run, and strip him of those lovely robes and let him take her, anywhere he wanted- up against a wall, in her bed, in the bath, in the study over her desk.  She wanted to run her tongue up that strip of bare skin, pull his damn skirt up to his waist, and ride him into oblivion.

"We could...leave early," she croaked, nearly cross-eyed with desire.

He laughed, then, a full, honest laugh that she'd never really heard from him before.  She met his eyes, sparkling with humor, and felt her own lips tug upward in response.  A part of her quietly noticed-

 _This is the real Anders- separate from Justice or the plight of mages.  This is the man I love._   

The surge of feeling shook her to the core.

The laugh subsided, and he shook his head.  "I'm afraid not, love.  I haven't given Isabela her present yet," he said, with a small, secretive smile.

Kit looked over at the pouch on the table, quizzically.  "What present?"

"It's a surprise," he answered coyly.     

Just then, Isabela stepped up on a table, giving nearly everyone an eyeful of what lay under her long, corseted tunic, and clapped her hands.

"I'd like to thank one and all for coming to my little party," she began, posing provocatively at the whistles and catcalls.  "Being unwed and thirty would have horrified my mother," she sighed dramatically, "And I am  _so_  glad that all of you have gathered to help me drown my shame in as much alcohol as Varric can muster."  A cheer went up, and glasses around the room were raised to Varric.  The dwarf waved and took a drink, and everyone around the room drained their mugs in response.

"Thanks especially to Markos, Tamas, and Nadya for providing such lovely music," she continued, nodding to the musicians.  The three played a short riff in response, making the assembled group laugh.

"And now, without further ado, let's continue with the entertainment!"  A cheer went up from the group.  "My lovely friend, Merrill, has agreed to share with us some Dalish poetry, after which my delectable friend Anders there-" she pointed in his direction, to which he inclined his head graciously- "will be delighting us with  _raqs sharqi_  and  _baladi._ "  A cheer went up at this, and Isabela grinned.  "I've seen it firsthand, and let me tell you, it's well-worth waiting for."

She jumped down from the table, and looked over at Merrill, who was standing shyly in the corner.  "Come on, sweets," she said, and tugged the elf over to the table.  

********************************************************************************************************

"I-" Merrill stood on the table for a moment, then sat down into a cross-legged position.  She looked at each of the people in the room in turn, then began, with a practiced lilt, to speak.  Kit could see the air of authority, so like Marethari, that fell over Merrill as she began to recite.

 _This is what she would have been, if not for that mirror._   Kit sipped her  _kaffe_  and listened:

"My people have a legends and gods far different from those in the cities, and tonight I will share with you the tale of Andruil, the Huntress.  Andruil is sister to Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, but where Sylaise prefers the safety of her home-tree, Andruil runs in the wilds of the forests."

The drum player let out a small staccato of beats.  Merrill looked surprised, then smiled at the drummer in appreciation and continued:

"She is the Sister of the Moon, the Mother of Hares, the Lady of the Hunt."  The harp player began to accompany the poem with a quietly plucked melody.

"And this is the charge she has given us:

 _Remember my teachings,  
Remember the Vir Tanadhal:  
The Way of Three Trees  
That I have given you._

 _Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow  
Be swift and silent;  
Strike true, do not waver  
And let not your prey suffer.  
That is my Way."_

Kit looked around the room, and found Isabela sitting at the table with Fenris, Aveline, and Donnic, nursing a mug of ale with every evidence of enjoyment.  Fenris was watching Merrill, quietly, intensely, and Kit realized suddenly that this was probably the first he'd heard of the history of his people.  She smiled to see his lyrium-traced fingers entwined with the pirate's free hand.

Merrill continued:

" _Vir Bor'assan: the Way of the Bow  
As the sapling bends, so must you.  
In yielding, find resilience;  
In pliancy, find strength.  
That is my Way._

 _Vir Adahlen: the Way of the Wood  
Receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness.  
Respect the sacrifice of my children  
Know that your passing shall nourish them in turn.  
That is my Way._

 _Remember the Ways of the Hunter  
And I shall be with you._  
    
At the conclusion of the poem, Merrill took a breath and waited.  The crowd of Rivaini and Antivans erupted into applause, stomping their feet and cheering.  A delicate blush rose in the elf's face, and at the clamoring of "More, more," she smiled.  "Well, if you're sure you want to hear more, I suppose..."

Kit turned her attention from the elf back to Anders, enjoying the play of light over his strong profile.  "What's this  _sharqi_  and  _baladi_  you'll be doing?" she asked quietly, curious.

He smiled, and without taking his eyes off the elf who had begun to recite another poem, replied, "You'll have to wait and see, won't you?"

Kit rolled her eyes and huffed at his coy reply.  As if in apology, his fingers found hers, and Kit turned her attention back to Merrill.  The elf was speaking in melodic Elvish, then translating every line, and Kit smiled.  She had a full stomach, a slight buzz from the alcohol, was enjoying an entertaining performance, and the most handsome man in the room was holding her hand.

Kit took a sip of kaffe and leaned back, content.


	3. Chapter 3

After a half-hour or so, Merrill stepped down from the table to thunderous applause, immediately set upon by her two admirers plying her with drinks.  

Isabela's voice came from the other side of the room, loudly-

"Chal, Tem!"  The two men looked over her way, apologetically.  Isabela continued:

"Merrill is my friend, and a  _lady_ -" she emphasized the word- "And you will treat her as such unless she specifically says otherwise, understand?"

Her tone was friendly, but the threat was there, and the two men nodded, quickly, before turning back to the blushing elf.

Kit was enjoying another small glass of the brandy, sipping slowly, when she noticed the mood of the room seemed to be changing.  The guests were suddenly pulling the tables away, clearing a large space in the middle of the room, and another man had removed a small, stringed instrument from a case, along with a wand that seemed to accompany it, and was carefully tuning it.  

"She even found a  _kemenche_  player," Anders said, surprising Kit out of her relaxed stupor.

As the floor was cleared, the sailors began to clap, rhythmically.  "That's my cue," Anders said in her ear, standing up. 

As the room continued to clap, Anders moved to the middle of the cleared-out area, eliciting cheers from the onlookers.  He turned to the four musicians who sat behind him, and said, "I think we'll start with  _havasi_ ," then rattled off something unpronounceable that had the musicians grinning.  They started to play, music with a strange, fierce rhythm, the stringed instrument wailing beautifully along with the horn.  Anders began to pace, then turned to face the room, face intent, hands on his hips.  As the beat began to build, he started to step, forward and back, deliberately.  The room erupted into cheers, and Kit realized, suddenly-

 _He's going to...dance?_

His arms came away from his waist, and suddenly, he was moving back and forth, rhythmically, arms flared out gracefully just below his shoulders, hands curved alluringly, his hips moving with the rhythm, raising his step a little higher on certain beats, emphasizing others with seductive movements of his hips.  It was immediately clear that he was no stranger to this dance, and whereas it might have looked awkward or feminine from others, from Anders it seemed the affirmation of masculine grace, control, and sensuality.

Kit couldn't tear her eyes away.

When the horn let out a long, smooth wail, he stopped his steps, hips rolling slowly, seductively, the movement a deliberate display of ability.  His arms moved in the same slow, rolling beat, moving outward, then curving gracefully in, wrists cocked, hands held in a skillful tilt.  His arms came flared back out, and he began to roll his shoulders, the movement continuing down all the way to his abdomen before snapping back up into another roll of the shoulders.  The deliberate bunching and tensing of muscles was beautifully showcased by his open robes, the inviting movements and ripple of bare skin mimicking and promising similar, more intimate movements that normally took place in bed.

Kit swallowed, hard.

********************************************************************************************************

His hips began to move again, a seductive, teasing beat that he began to emphasize with graceful flicks of one hand.  The flicks grew into a pantomime of playing that stringed instrument, his hand bowing back and forth, his hips keeping the beat of the drum.  As the beat stopped, suddenly, he crossed one hand over the opposite hip, as if pushing his body with his hand into that single, stopped beat.  The drum beat twice, stopping again, his hips emphasizing each staccato pulse, then beat thrice, as his whole body seemed to echo the rhythm of the drum.  

The music began again, full force, and he began to move across the floor, intricate footwork following the beat perfectly, arm and hand movements complimenting the swaying and thrusting of his body.

The crowd was cheering, loudly, and he looked up, giving a seductive smile to a cheering man.  Heat rose in the sailor's face as Anders trapped the man's gaze with his own, as if to say that the sensuous movements of his body were for him alone.  Anders then looked back down, focusing back on the steps.

Kit wanted to disembowel that blushing sailor.  The man looked her way, calculatingly, but the expression on her face had him turning pale under his tan.  He put out a placating hand, nodding slightly.  Kit sat back, satisfied.  The message had been sent.

No one touched Anders but her.

As the horn began to wail once more, his steps turned slow and deliberate once more, his hands and arms coming above his head in a graceful point.  The full, beautiful line of his body was exposed by his extended arms, and as he stepped, his chest and hips kept the beat.

The harp player began to sing, a long, ululating call, and Kit watched in surprise as Anders moved slowly, gracefully to his knees, the dance impossibly continuing even as he knelt, sitting on his ankles.  The group started to cheer again, and it became obvious that this part of the dance was meant to emphasize the seductive movements of his torso and abdomen.  His arms kept the rhythm while his chest moved in a slow circle, and then, suddenly, his hips took up the rhythm, small, short thrusts, his arms moving in long, slow strokes in counterpoint.

He swayed, shoulders shaking in time to the music, and then suddenly, with one long thrust, he was standing on his knees, his abdomen rolling teasingly, sensuously, the slow thrust starting at his shoulders and rolling down his waist to his pelvis.  He tilted his head back, eyes closed, arms held out gracefully, a bead of sweat gleaming, rolling down his bare chest as he moved.  He repeated the movements several more times, the music building, and then he shimmied, his torso fluttering back and forth in a movement so quick and controlled Kit would have sworn it was impossible.

He opened his eyes and moved slowly to his feet, resuming the intricate footwork and larger, skipping movements, the smile on his face genuine and playful.  His arms, hips and chest moved gracefully, and it was clear that the beautiful, joyous, sensuous dance was coming to a close as the music built.  He swayed slowly, and emphasized with his hips the single, double, and triple beat that signalled the end of the song.  As the music stopped, he bowed, cheers and catcalls erupting all around him.  

He took in a deep breath, chest rising and falling rapidly with his exertions, his skin pink with exertion.  He looked over at Kit, then, and she realized that he'd avoided looking at her the entire dance.

The insecurity in his eyes asked the question for him, and Kit realized despite the applause he was getting from the Rivainis, the only approval he wanted was from her.

She smiled at him, a slow, teasing smile.   _Yes._


	4. Chapter 4

He grinned back at her before being pulled into a smacking kiss by Isabela.  

"That was even better than I remembered!" the pirate cooed, running a hand up his arm.  "Promise you'll dance a few more?"  

"Fine," he replied, smiling, "just let me have a drink of something mostly water first," he said, the pirate wrinkling her nose at him.  He shrugged.  "Justice, you know.  I can't fight him on  _everything_  at once."

Anders sat back down at the table, the hubbub of voices and cheers mixing with the sounds of the music.  The musicians played a wild, fast tune with a Rivaini refrain that was quickly picked up by the bulk of the guests, punctuated every so often with a collective chorus of drunken shouts.

Kit turned to face Anders, eyes roving over his warmed skin, the faint gleam of perspiration gleaming on his bared chest.  A few more tendrils of his hair had worked their way loose, framing his face.  Kit felt a shiver go through her at the sight of him, and suddenly it was too much.

She leaned over and pulled him to her by the edges of that teasing robe.  His eyes widened for a moment before her lips met his.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she focused on the feel of his mouth, so warm, and the velvety soft texture of the inside of his mouth as she lapped and sucked gently.  He tasted so good, texture and sensation and the sound of the soft groan he made as she kitten-licked, once, twice.

His golden lashes fluttered as she gently broke the kiss, those whiskey eyes looking at her, dazed as she stood and leaned in, abandoning her chair for his lap.  She straddled him, her legs over his thighs on either side of his chair, and as she bent to breathe in the scent of his neck she felt hands come around her, cupping her ass and pulling her tight to him.

She whimpered slightly when she felt him through her breeches, that hardened length up against the core of her.  "Do you like that, sweetheart?" he whispered in her ear, his hands rubbing over her buttocks.  "Do you like feeling what you do to me?"  She felt his talented hips move, ever so slightly, rubbing that hardness against her, and she couldn't help the soft, frustrated sounds that came out of her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What I do...to you?" she near-gasped out against the curve of his ear, that gorgeous earring gleaming in the light.  "You dress in these amazing robes, perform-" She did gasp as he breathed into her ear- "like that, and you're talking about me?"

She felt his lips curve against her jaw, and he rubbed his stubble teasingly against her face, making her squeal and pull away from the rough texture.  She pulled back enough to see the corners of his eyes crinkling with a rare, full smile.  "You liked it then?"

Kit raised an eyebrow.  "Last I checked I still had a pulse, so yes."  

He teasingly unwound one of her arms and sandwiched it between their bodies, pressing his fingers against the delicate thrum of blood beneath her wrist.  "Hmm, seems a bit fast to me- you might want to have your healer take a look at that."

"I  _am_  feeling a bit light-headed," she quipped as Isabela wandered up with a mug of heavily watered wine.

"That's for your stick-in-the-mud," the rogue said, setting the mug on the table.  "And don't go distracting the entertainment," she continued, tugging Kit off of Anders' lap.  "I'm not done with him yet."

Kit resumed her seat with a moue of disappointment, but noticed with a bit of glee how quickly Anders pulled his chair close to the table, taking a deep drink of the watered wine.   _I suppose it's harder to hide certain things in robes,_  she noted with amusement.  'Bela grinned along with her.

********************************************************************************************************

"We'll give you a few more songs, but then I want to see something with these."  The rogue shook the small pouch on the table, eliciting a few  _clinks_ from inside.  Anders nodded and 'Bela wandered back to the main group, joining briefly in communal dancing that had started, shaking her hips with no little measure of skill.

"'Bela's not bad, herself," Kit said to Anders, watching as another sailor took the rogue's hand, his own clumsy but energetic steps seeming more of a counterpoint to 'Bela's sinuous moves.

"She's not bad," Anders said, "But she moves her arms too quickly."  Kit looked over, amused at his semi-critical tone, and he flushed slightly.  "Well, it's true," he said, and Kit laughed.  "Subtlety isn't 'Bela's strong point," she agreed.

She turned to face him then, curiosity getting the better of her.  "So where does a Circle mage learn to dance like a Rivaini, anyway?"

He grinned at her.  "From a Rivaini, of course."  Kit rolled her eyes.  "What, you didn't think that all the mages in the Circle were Ferelden, did you?"

"I never gave it much thought, actually," she answered honestly.  He looked over at the group of rowdy dancers as the tune changed to something slower and somehow wistful, watching as they drifted off to the tables or stood in groups talking.

"There was another apprentice, a girl named Lyubitshka- her parents were merchants from Rivain," he replied.  "The Templars brought her to the Circle two months after I was brought.  She'd met with a boy she liked, and when you're young and full of magic-" he shrugged- "Things have a way of getting out of hand.  Her magic got away from her and the market stall they were hiding behind caught fire."

A slightly bitter cast settled over his face.  "She cried when she told me he looked at her like she was a monster- filthy and evil."

Kit drew a slight breath in sympathy.  Anders looked over, his eyes softening.  "We were both kids- she counted fourteen years or so and I had just twelve.  We were both new to the Tower, angry, rebellious, foreign, with crazy accents and unpronounceable names."

"Accent?  You speak the King's Ferelden if I ever heard it," Kit replied.

" _Ja, meine Spatzi_ ," he answered with a smile, "I do  _now_.  But back then I was just another Anders brat from a little rat-spit village that might have been plucked from the banks of  _die Lattenfluss_  and dropped straight into Ferelden."

Kit stared as she felt a frisson of heat in her belly- she'd never heard him speak Anderfels before, and that clipped, confident accent of another tongue made her lick her lips.  He looked over at her quizzically.  "What?"

"Remember that elf we ran across on Sundermount?" Kit replied, arching an eyebrow at him.

His brow creased.  "The one with the- ah," he said, and smirked a bit.  "So you  _do_  like men with accents,  _Liebling_?"

He exaggerated the word slightly and watched her cheeks flame.  "You're  _killing_  me," she replied crossly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.  "Finish your story."

Anders continued, "Anyway, Lyubi and I stuck together- most of the other apprentices were much older, or much younger, or snotty Ferelden brats who didn't want to spend time around the 'stupid, dirty foreigners.'"  His jaw tightened.  "One day she showed me how the Rivaini dance, and I wanted to learn," he shrugged noncommittally.

"'Stupid, dirty foreigner,'" Kit sputtered, "I'd've kicked their arses soundly were I you."

"Ah, but sweetheart," he answered, "I could count twelve years but barely knew my letters, and Lyubi had never learned.  I helped in the fields and with the livestock and shirked my studies every chance I got- they had to lock me in the Tower before I appreciated books."

" _Anders_ ," Kit said in distress.  She could see him now, a gangly, browned boy locked away from his sunshine and fields and animals in the cold stone Tower, surrounded by frigid water and Templars on all sides.

He looked over, and seeing her expression reached over to rub a callused thumb over her hand.  "It was a long time ago," he said softly.  "And besides, I wouldn't have been nearly so interested in herbs and healing but for the rare chance to get outside and go collecting."

********************************************************************************************************

Anders shrugged.  "Anyway, some of the other apprentices thought a boy learning a  _girl's_  dance was ridiculous-" his shoulders hunched slightly, defensively, "but I liked it and I was good at it."

 _Ah,_  Kit realized,  _that's where the insecurity was coming from._

"And once we were a little... older," the smirk returned, "they liked it too."

"I can imagine," Kit said dryly.  "I don't see how anyone in the Tower could keep their eyes off you."

His eyes met hers, amber and golden gazes locking, and he replied archly, "Well, a sense of rhythm, flexibility, and certain movements  _do_  tend to translate into other areas."

"You know," Kit said, firmly, "I'm fairly certain that I can toss you over my shoulder and carry you off, whether you will or no."

He picked up the pouch on the table and pulled out two pair of tiny brass cymbals with small leather bands on them as the music changed.  "I do believe I'm up again," he replied, standing up and sauntering to the middle of the room to the cheers and catcalls of the guests.

He struck a playful pose as the  _kemenche_  player drew a few lyrical wails from the instrument, and once the drummer began it was clear that this was a dance of rhythm, speed, and coordination.  

Anders had pulled the tiny cymbals onto his fingers, and, strutting slowly onto the stage, he burst into movement as the beat picked up, the beat of the cymbals in time with the drum and the movements of his body.  The fringe at his belt shook with every thrust and shake of his hips, his quick, energetic movements emphasizing speed and control.  His hands moved gracefully up and down, wrists flicking languidly while his fingers kept the frantic beat.  

The song slowed, suddenly, the cymbals and drum stilled in unison as he curved his arms sinuously, slowly to the wail of the  _kemenche._   Putting a hand on his hip and the other in the air, he writhed in one long movement from the tips of his fingers through his torso to the ground and back again, repeating the movement several times before the pace began to pick up.

He shook his hips in a teasing shimmy to the rhythm of the music, gliding slowly across the floor and pausing for a long moment.

The pace picked up again into a frenzied finale as he turned, cymbals chiming in time once more to the movements of his body.  Kit had no idea how he managed to coordinate feet, hips, torso, arms, and the unceasing chiming of the finger-cymbals while smiling flirtatiously, keeping a rhythm, and making it all look beautiful and effortless.  As the song concluded, he ended with a flourish and a pose, chest glistening with slight perspiration in that tantalizing strip bared by his robes.

The next dance transitioned into something slower, more deliberate and sensual, and Kit watched, unable to tear her eyes away from his careful pacing, the slow turns and chiming of the cymbals accentuating the undulations of his torso, the measured, relentless beats of his hips.  The slower pace seemed to be encouraging many of the guests to find each other and relatively dark corners, and Kit guessed the party wouldn't go on for much longer.  'Bela was cuddling up to Fenris, and the elf's normally broody expression was relaxed and calm.

The music changed once more, and Anders carefully removed the worn finger-cymbals, and surprising her, pulled the bit of leather out of his hair, letting it fall loosely around his face before beginning this one last dance.  The beat was slow and syncopated, and as his eyes met hers and locked, Kit shivered- it seemed every movement of his body was a promise.   He held his arms gracefully high, his belly rolling, rising and falling in long, sensuous, continuous movements.  His wrists turned over, body twisting languidly as he inscribed an unbelievably beautiful circle with his entire upper body.  It was slow, dramatic, and breathtaking.

"Maker," Kit breathed.  This dance was about control, about achieving the perfect shape with arms, body and hips, and Anders did it seemingly without effort, his own eyes lidded with enjoyment, blond hair framing his face, brushing up against his cheekbones in a delicate wave of golden-red.  He turned slowly, once more as the music wound to a finish, holding completely still in a final, graceful pose.  The room came alive, cheers and claps building.

He broke the pose then, and with a smile and a bow ceded the center of the room to a very happy, very drunk Isabela.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kit is singing “Fallen Embers” by Enya. I think her songs make excellent song/poem material for the Thedas universe.
> 
> Oh, and I took a look at a map of Kirkwall, since I'd never really paid attention to the layout of the city, and how they'd walk back from the Hanged Man. Damn, Kirkwall has a lot of stairs!
> 
> http://game-maps.com/img/da2/dragon-age-2-Kirkwall-map.jpg

"I'd like t'thank y'all fr coming..." Isabela slurred as she swayed slightly to the claps and cheers of the group.  " 'm now 'fficially thirty years old, and 've never felt better!"  She turned with a smile to the rest of the room and with a few exaggerated gestures, announced, "But now i's time fr y'all to go home, because 'm going to drag this d'licious elf here off and have my way with 'im."

She tugged impatiently on Fenris' arm, and with a sigh and a roll of the eyes he swept her into his arms.  She giggled drunkenly as he bent to whisper something in her ear that had her grinning, and without further ado he carried her to her suite of rooms in the back of the Hanged Man, accompanied by a chorus of catcalls and cheers.

The rest of the guests took their leave rather quickly after that, stumbling and singing merrily amongst themselves.  Anders was talking to the _kemenche_  player, and Aveline and Donnic were starting to clear away the scattered dishes.  Kit stood, and stretching slightly, began to help with the plates.  "Leave those, Hawke," Aveline said, suddenly, at Kit's shoulder, and Kit squeaked in surprise, not having heard the normally armored guard approach.

"Donnic and I can clean up here," Aveline said, "So why don't you make sure Anders gets back safely.  With the way he's dressed I think he'll need an escort."  Kit turned and eyed the guard, who was maintaining her usual stoic expression.  But the twinkle in the other woman's green eyes told Kit that Aveline had a fair idea of where Anders was getting back  _to_ , and with a slight blush and a muttered "Nosy, Aveline, nosy," she turned to the near-empty containers of food.  There was a little bit of stew and cornmeal left- the basket of bread was long-since gone, and the baklava had been thoroughly plundered.  

Anders wandered over, and upon spying the empty baklava pan made a moue of disappointment.  "They ate it  _all_?"  

Kit looked at him with a sly smile.  "Well, as it happens, I seem to have a second pan waiting at home, in the larder."

He leaned closer, and with a smile, replied, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to share?"

Kit raised an eyebrow at him teasingly.  "I might- if you're good."

Anders snickered, and she felt her cheeks reddening at the unintentional double entendre.  He leaned in, then, with a grin, and said  _sotto voce_ , "Oh, I'm  _very_  good."  He brushed his lips over hers, feather-light, once, twice, stealing her breath.  Kit put out a hand to steady herself and nearly moaned when she felt the warm, slightly damp skin of his chest under her palm.  

His hand came up to cover hers, and as he held her palm to his chest, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the quick rise and fall with each breath- she wasn't the only one affected by their little game.

He pulled his lips an inch from hers, and as their breath mingled, they stood and simply drank in the sensation of each other, the quiet, the stillness, this tiny corner of Thedas theirs and theirs alone for one endless moment.  

Kit moved her hand to his face, cupping his jaw, running her sword-callused thumb over the prickle of his stubble, smiling as amber and golden eyes met, drank in the sight of one another.

Aveline cleared her throat loudly from the other side of the room, and Kit gave Anders a wry smile, letting her hand fall from his cheek.

She turned to the dishes, and stacking things neatly in the two pots, she hooked them back on the carrying pole and hefted it easily to her left shoulder.

She turned to Anders and said, "Shall we?"

They made their way quietly out of the Hanged Man, Anders walking to her right.  As they walked through the streets of Lowtown, Kit was relieved to see that it was quiet and deserted- evidently the gangs hadn't had time to regroup since the last time they'd been flushed out from their hovel and dealt with.

She felt a warm hand lace through her own, and they walked companionably through the winding alleys to the stairs that led to Hightown.  

********************************************************************************************************

"It's a beautiful night," Anders said quietly, and she looked over to see him smiling at her.  A small breeze rifled through that fall of red-gold hair, the moon, the stars, and the occasional lit lamp illuminating his lithe form.  Kit felt an answering smile tugging at her lips.   _It is indeed._

As they ascended Kirkwall's steps, the entirety of Lowtown spread out before them, the starlit night above, Kit began to hum absent-mindedly.  After a few moments, she stopped, realizing that he was listening, his thumb stroking hers gently.

"What song was that?" he asked, and she pinkened slightly.  "Just a song Mother used to sing to us before bed- I don't know where she learnt it."

"How does it go?" he asked, and she blushed a bit.  "I'm no bard, Anders."

"Sing it for me," he insisted, and as they walked slowly up the steps, she began to sing softly, 

 _Once, as my heart remembers,  
All the stars were falling embers.  
Once, when night seemed forever  
I was with you._

 _Once, in the care of morning  
In the air was all belonging.  
Once, when that day was dawning.  
I was with you._

 _How far we are from morning.  
How far we are  
And the stars shining through the darkness,  
Falling in the air._

 _Once, as the night was leaving  
Into us our dreams were weaving.  
Once, all dreams were worth keeping.  
I was with you._

 _Once, when our hearts were singing,  
I was with you._

"The stars reminded me," she said, softly, once she'd finished singing, and they continued to ascend towards Hightown.

********************************************************************************************************

After another quarter-hour's walk, they reached the Hawke mansion in the heart of Hightown, Kit setting down the pots to unlock the door.  Sandal, Bodahn, and Leandra had long since gone to bed, the house dark and quiet, the banked embers in the fireplace letting off a faint glow.  

Rand met them in the entryway, wagging his tail in greeting as they walked quietly inside.  Kit patted him on the head then turned to Anders.  "I just need to put these in the kitchen for Bodahn," she said, and he nodded, following behind her.

Once in the kitchen she set down the pots, unhooking the chain and quietly setting them next to the wall where Bodahn would take care of them in the morning.  She fumbled a bit in the near dark, nervousness getting the better of her.  They were at home, in her kitchen... should she just invite him to her bedroom?

 _This is... awkward._   

She stood up to find him standing behind her and let out an  _eep_  of surprise.  "Maker's breath, how do you move so quietly?" she said, turning to him.  He was so close, in her space, that delectable scent of musk and feathers and  _male_  with hints of elfroot and spindleweed that was uniquely Anders making her knees weak.

"It's a talent," he said, and then he was kissing her, hot and needy and impatient, and there were no words.  His arms came around her, pulling her to him, his lips soft and warm against hers, suckling and nibbling at her lower lip while she moaned.  He moved from her lip to her mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue lapping gently at hers.  He broke the kiss long enough for both of them to gasp for air, then moved back in to take possession of her mouth, his hands running down her back, cupping her buttocks.

His tongue began a slow, deliberate rhythm that his hands mirrored, pulling her against his hardness in time with the dueling of their tongues.  The small, desperate sounds he was making were driving her mad, her own occasional, throaty mewls of pleasure urging him on.

The next time they came up for air, she gasped, "Upstairs."

"Right," he said, breathing in short bursts, "As soon as I-"

He dove in for another kiss, and the last of Kit's rational thought melted away.  Upstairs?  No, they didn't need to go upstairs.  Here was just fine.  Here was perfect, better than perfect, better than  _anything_  as long as he didn't stop-

She rucked his robe up as he slid talented hands under her shirt, running his palms along her ribs, up to her breasts where her nipples were already hard and aching for him.

Her own hands disappeared under the back of his robe, and sliding under the drawstring waistband of his smalls she reached down to knead his buttocks, pulling him in tight against her core.

He broke the kiss and began to laugh, quietly.  "We'd better move upstairs now, sweetheart," he said, voice tinged with desire and amusement, "or we won't make it there at all."

She voiced her own disapproval with a pleading whine as his fingers skimmed over her breasts, her knees nearly collapsing when he bent his head to take one in his mouth through the thin cloth of her shirt.

"You're- taking your time-" she gasped, "For a man who wants to go upstairs."

"Mmm," he replied, and then taking pity on her, he ceased the delicious torture, bringing his head back up, mouth to her ear.

"I suppose you're right," he breathed, "We don't want your mother to come down for a midnight snack and find me buried to the hilt inside you on your kitchen floor."

She whimpered, feeling a surge of wetness between her thighs at the thought of the thick length currently nestled between her thighs  _inside_.

It had been a  _very_  long three years.


	6. Chapter 6

Without another word, Kit pushed gently back on his shoulders until he stepped away, reluctantly, giving her the space she needed to grab his hand and tug him hastily upstairs.  He pulled back, once, kissing her thoroughly on the stairs before releasing her again, and as soon as they were through the door he turned and fumbled the lock into place.

Kit licked her lips as he turned slowly to face her, desire and need and anticipation mirrored clearly on his face, matching the roil of emotions working through her.

"I want to see you," he said, voice rough.  "Take it all off for me?"

Kit reddened.  Of all the ways she'd imagined, fantasized, dreamed of this moment, she'd never thought he'd be standing across the room from her, gaze intense while he made love to her with his voice.

She pulled the thick linen shirt over her head, hearing him suck in his breath when he realized she wore nothing underneath.  He devoured her with his gaze as she tossed the shirt in the corner, taking in her bronzed skin, firm, pert breasts with taut pink nipples, arms and shoulders strong from years of carrying armor and wielding a sword.  She had a single scar over her left shoulder where a genlock had sliced her open as they fled from Lothering, but other than that she was unmarked, his healing hands always at the ready to soothe and mend throughout their years together.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, her fingers fumbling with her belt, pulling down her breeches and smalls and stockings, kicking them off along with her soft leather shoes as quickly as she could manage.

She straightened her shoulders and looked at him, then, his eyes nearly molten as he took in the strong, flat plane of her abdomen, the soft triangle of reddish curls that sheltered her sex, down muscled thighs and strong calves to her trim feet and back up again.

Anders stepped forward and in two strides he stood before her, bringing up a hand to cup her cheek before moving in for a gentle, thorough kiss.  He pulled her close once again, his hands smoothing over her back, curving over her bare buttocks as he caressed, tracing her skin.  She moaned into his mouth, her hands coming up to tug at his robes and he broke the kiss with a smile.

"Take these off," she demanded.

"If you want them off," he countered, "Take them off yourself."

She looked at him, then, the small smile at the corners of his lips as he dared her with his gaze.

"Fine," she said, and pulling him over to the bed, gave him a light shove.  "Sit."

"Yes  _ser_ ," he replied, grinning.

First came the bracers- she found the buckles quickly enough and undid first one, then the other, sliding them off and setting them next to her on the floor.  He took every opportunity to tease her nipples or run a hand over her rump, making her whimper with each teasing touch.

She ran her own fingers over the skin of his forearms, now bared to her touch, skimming over the light sprinkling of golden hair and the soft skin of his wrists before moving up to the armbands.  She slipped them off, admiring the wiry muscles in his arms- he was slim, but strong from years of wielding a staff.  

She moved to the chest ornament, finding the fastenings where it hooked into the jacket with its feathered pauldrons, carefully setting it to the floor before sliding the jacket down his arms.  He pulled his arms out of the jacket, allowing her to set it to the side, revealing the sleeveless upper part of the robes that was the last layer.

Kit's eyes met his, and he said, softly, "I love watching you while you undress me, sweetheart."

She made a soft sound in her throat, bending forward to press her mouth to his sternum, to that deliciously bare strip of skin that had tantalized her all night.  His skin tasted salty, the feel of his skin hot under her tongue as his hands came up to stroke her hair and run down her back.  

Kit kissed him, working her way down his chest with soft little presses of her mouth and little bites that made him gasp before she soothed them with her tongue.  He tasted, smelled, felt so good, and Maker, she'd wanted this for so long.

She pulled back long enough to run her hands underneath the sides of the under-robe, pushing it off his shoulders and down, baring his torso to her fully.

His upper chest had a light dusting of golden-red hair that she ran her fingers through, greedily, fingers tracing down to his nipples.  She leaned in, then, flicking her tongue first across one, then the other, his strangled moan setting her on fire as he stroked his hands along her sides.

Kit gave him a light shove, then, pushing him back onto his elbows on the bed, and kneeling down she removed his sandals, drinking in every inch of him, the long, curved calves, sprinkled liberally with golden hair, his long, slim feet.  She rose to her feet, standing over him as he lounged on her bed, brown eyes watching her intensely, bare to the waist, and with a few quick movements she unfastened his belt before hooking her hands in his waistband and pulling everything off, belt, robes and smalls.

He was beautiful, perfect, that trail of golden hair leading down to where his cock rested, thick and curved upward, nestled in golden curls.

Kit climbed onto the bed next to him as he scooted upwards, laying fully on the bed.

As soon as she was next to him he turned and reached for her, moving until he had one thigh between hers, his hardness against her hip as his body bore to to the bed.  He kissed her, slow, languorous sweeps of tongue and lips that left them both gasping, her hands smoothing down the warm skin of his back.

He broke the kiss, breath feathering against her mouth, and when her eyes opened she found him watching her.  "Hello, sweetheart," he said, softly.

"Hello, yourself," she responded, and for a moment they stilled, drinking in the _crackle_ of the fire, the feel of bare skin against bare skin, the intimate feel of their bodies pressed together.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he asked, dipping his head down to lap at her neck.  "This?" his lips moved up to her earlobe, sending shivers down her spine as he breathed gently, "Here?"

Kit moaned incoherently, and he shook his head in negation, rubbing his stubble along her neck and making her squeal as she squirmed underneath him.

"Tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart," he repeated, insistently, breath ragged.

"I want-" she sighed as he skimmed his lips over her jaw- "I want your mouth on me."

"Where?" he whispered, teasingly, "Tell me where."

"My breasts," she sighed, and he shifted, moving down to lave the tops of her breasts.  She arched into the touch, begging him silently to lap at her nipples, pert with want.  "Here?" came the teasing reply, "Or here?" he said, tongue tracing a path along the curve of a breast.

"The nipple," she moaned, "suck on it, please," and was rewarded as he finally moved to sate her desire.  As his warm lips closed around her nipple, suckling almost roughly, she cried out with pleasure.  

He continued to pull little moans from her, licking and tugging with his teeth before moving to her other nipple, his callused fingers plucking at her wet peak while his mouth conquered the other.

She buried one hand in his hair, holding him to her, arching into his mouth, her other hand stroking his shoulder, needing to touch him.

"What else do you want, sweetheart?" he whispered against wet flesh, and she moaned again- he was going to make her beg for it, all of it.  "Anders," she whispered, and felt him suckle, hard, enough to drive a whine of slight protest even though the pleasure mingled with a hint of pain was making her writhe underneath him.  "Anders, please-"

"Please  _what_ , sweetheart," he insisted, and her breath stuttered, a blush rising to her cheeks as she gave him what he wanted.

"I want your mouth on my clit, your fingers inside me," she whimpered, and was rewarded with a soft kiss against her breast before he began to move lower.

"Oh, Maker, yes," she sighed as he slowly moved his way down, kissing and licking a path down her belly before he made it to her soft, wet curls, his hands moving to caress and part her thighs as he settled in between her legs.  

He pushed her thighs apart, strong hands stroking over her skin before parting her with one callused thumb.  His tongue followed where his thumb led, and at the first stroke of his tongue, she let out a soft cry.  He began to build a rhythm, stroking with his tongue, his hand reaching up to stroke her belly as she moaned and whimpered for him.  He began to suck, the hot, wet seal of his mouth making her writhe and sigh.

He eased one long finger inside, mouth and tongue busy, hearing her sob as her walls clenched him tightly.  When that finger was joined by another, she cried out his name, tongue and lips and fingers driving her closer and closer to cusp, his own muffled moans blending with her soft cries.

She tugged at his hair, wanting,  _needing_  him inside her, and he paused, expectantly, his fingers still moving in and out, sliding up to caress her clit before moving back inside.

"Anders," she moaned, "Please."

He took pity on her then, or perhaps his own self-control was in tatters, moving up to cover her with his body, rubbing that hot, thick length against her slit as he kissed her.

She shifted, trying to angle her body to pull him inside, but with a deft roll of his hips he outmaneuvered her.  "You want this?" he whispered, teasing her, rubbing.

"Maker, yes," she groaned, hands clenching his buttocks, trying to urge him inside her.

"Say it," he demanded, and helpless, she begged, "Please, I want you inside of me."

She felt his head at her entrance, then, and they both held their breath for a moment as he began to push inside.

 _Maker_ , he was thick, and it was a slow, teasing push-pull of his hips as he pressed, then retreated, then pressed back, her wetness covering him, taking him ever so slowly inside.

His breath hissed in her ear, and he said in a soft, strangled voice, "You're so tight, sweetheart."

They moved slowly in unison, the give and take as he filled her more deeply with each press of his hips making them both cry out in pleasure.  Finally, there was that single, glorious moment when he was inside, and the struggle to fit was replaced by that first slow thrust.

"Anders," she sobbed, breath ebbing and flowing as his hips flexed, as they moved together in that oldest of dances, his length filling her, caressing her, for a moment heading too far.  "Not so deep," she gasped, one hand moving to his hip, guiding him back, showing him, and then they were moving together again, in that perfect melding of bodies that made her cry out his name.

She was so close- he sped up, and she abandoned her own movements simply to arch into him, to let him thrust, and then she was  _there_ , going over, crying out his name as she shivered and gasped and took him fully, letting out deep, ragged cries of pleasure as she felt him thrust deeper, harder, his own back arching, and then she felt his body go rigid as he found his own completion, head thrown back as he cried out, shaking in her arms as he spilled himself inside her.

She smoothed a hand over his hair, the fall of red-gold tickling as he relaxed in her arms, and for a few moments they simply lay together, a tangle of sweaty limbs, breath slowing, his heart beating against hers.  He turned his head to look at her, those beautiful brown eyes half-lidded with pleasure, and without a word he bent to kiss her, lips and breath mingling.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth, and she felt the prick of tears as she hugged him tightly.

"I love you too," she whispered back, hearing his breath catch.

After a few moments more, he disengaged slowly, rolling to her side.  She cuddled up against his chest, enjoying the feel of his arm at her back, running her fingers through the sparse golden curls on his chest.

"Stay with me?" she asked, softly, and he chuckled.  "I hate to say it, sweetheart, but I think I'm in no condition to go anywhere for the next few hours."

"I don't mean tonight," she answered, splaying one hand across his chest.  "I mean permanently."

He tensed, whether in surprise or in dislike of the idea she couldn't tell.  "Do you mean it, love," he asked after a moment, voice husky.

She nodded against his chest.  "I do.  I want you here, with me, tonight, and tomorrow morning when I wake up, and every night and morning after that until we die."

He pulled her tightly to him, his other arm coming around to tip her chin up, and when he kissed her, it was perfect and right and true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. <3


End file.
